


Whispered Memories

by holhorsinaround



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Drowning, its void time babeyyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holhorsinaround/pseuds/holhorsinaround
Summary: Nephelaar snarled. “No…no!” His eyes burst into a fury of shadowflame. “I’ll see you all drowned beneath the waves! I’ll turn your very people against you!” he snarled as he shot a hand out toward Alyr and launched a pulse of magic at him, violent whispers attempting to dominate his mind.





	Whispered Memories

The Kaldorei fell, leaving Sertius an opening to leave while Jadearra turned her attention to their target. Nephelaar was on his knees, mumbling something incoherent after an outburst of repetitive “no"s. He turned his own head, ready to tell the Draenei to shut up, that he’d had enough of his babbling and his excuses, when a deep sense of cold and of dread came to him.

No control over his body, he sank to his knees, his weight limp and heavy. An unsettling viciousness grasped at him, unseen and unknown, leaving Alar to feel as though something was glancing into the very core of his being. The voices of many people found their way into his head, and suddenly nausea began to build in his throat and stomach. He felt cold, freezing even, and a panic of claustrophobia came to him. He felt as though he was drowning. 

The voices became coherent, some he did not know, while others he recognized. One in particular stood out above the others, loud and oppressive and in a dialect he had not heard in over twenty years.

**"I always knew you were weak. You never did listen, never to me anyway. Always too concerned with pleasing your mommy, too afraid to wield a weapon, always crying about how afraid you were. Do you remember the flood? How it filled you with so much fear? You would have been better off drowning.”**

His eyes closed, and suddenly the scene around him changed as the voice trailed away. He was under the ocean waves again, unable to breathe, floating beside debris. Banners floated through the water, and under him he could make out the remnants of the Mirage Raceway. Above him, sunlight glared down at him, blinding him. Instinct kicked in, and he tried to thrash his limbs in fear but nothing moved. A new voice entered his head, low and haunting, one that brought a shiver to his body. He felt hypothermic but sank ever lower, farther away from the light above.

**“Do you remember, Ah'ki? Remember how you loved the ocean, how you would never leave the water? Now you’ll never have to again… we can be together, you and I.”**

Soft, haunting. There was an echo, a muffled garble to the woman’s voice, much like speaking through water. Her voice drifted in and out, as though all around him. A sudden heat came over his face, against his eyes and his forehead. Air bubbles caught against his lips and under his nose, hot, scalding even. He wanted, so badly, to understand why, unable to say no. Not to her.

His eyes opened and he was staring at her, so close that he could count the wrinkles along her face. The soulless haze of her own eyes, dim and matching the color of the ocean water around them, stared back. Her once teal hair fanned out around her face, framing her in his vision. He felt her touch him, bare, cold fingers against his arms, the ice of her touch seeping under his uniform and sinking into his skin.

He could finally move his hand. He reached out, fingers touching to her cheek. He tried to speak but nothing came out, and once more the nauseating claustrophobia filled his stomach. This wasn’t right. He repeated that in his head, fear filling the very cracks of his soul. It became a mantra, and try as he might, he could not pull his hand away. Her own hand raised up, fingers brushing his forehead, his nose, his eyes, and as her skin touched to him, a violent pain filled his head. Something was ringing, echoing against his ear drums, pounding and pulsing and reverberating until his vision went black.

And then the suffocation was over. He still could not speak, but he mouthed the words, feeling and tasting rust against his lips and tongue. Even as weak as he was, he found his power. _Control_ returned.

“I don’t belong to you anymore, mom.”

And then his eyes opened. He could barely see, his vision bloodshot and head dizzy with pain as the headache swelled through his brain. His fingers were in front of his eyes, obscuring what remained of his vision. Blood had been pooling under his palm, against his glove and lips. The nausea remained, but he no longer felt as though he were drowning.

He looked up to see Mae, Kaladin, and Jadearra standing above Nephelaar, and it was clear the Tidesage himself had landed the blow that gave Alar the chance to fight back against the maddening whispers, against the temptation. A sense of irony filled him, only briefly, before Alar lowered his eyes to rest on the incapacitated Draenei. A smirk, subtle but visible in the bloodied upturn of the corners of his lips, came to his expression. He muttered, to Nephelaar and to himself, to the vision of his mother, to the nightmare of his father, in bitter vindication.

“Wrong neighborhood, asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

> 2018 became a rather fun year for Alar as a whole-- 100% still Troll but working within Alliance territory. He's... having a fun time coping with things! This is a piece from a guild event near the latter third of 2018, where I go too deep into something brief during a combat event.


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